The sidewalks that line the beachfront street are teaming with Mexican peddlers, both those which own storefronts and promise a “good price” and those carrying their wares around asking mariscosa restaurant patrons if they’d like to buy jewelry or hammocks. Pickup trucks with coolers full of fresh shrimp abound and most of the restaurants provide you free clams in addition to chips and salsa.
We try to order in Spanish the best we can. “Tres tacos de camarone,” and “una mas Tecate,” become common phrases.
“Si.” We want the red ones.
The niños in our party, six total as we’ve joined with the Mali Mish clan for our three month (or so) tour of the Baja, ride their bikes song the sidewalk as we walk and try and chat about the town, plans for heading further south, but mostly just yell ahead to tell them not to touch things.
Each restaurant and shop we pass someone cries out asking us to stop and look. Everyone is overly nice, they’re looking for business and during the week we’re one of few groups of tourists in the area.
Cigarettes cost 55 pesos, currently just over three dollars. Three tacos run 45 pesos and a six pack of cerveza about 75. Our full-hookup spot was $108 U.S. for the week, though we didn’t need the hookups necessarily, it was ocean front and had WiFi, proving quite useful as switching our phones from AT&T to T-Mobile proved a small nightmare.
Every night we sip beers with our companions, which also includes Kerri and Tim, aka A Solo Journer and Van Tramp in the Instagram world. We’re all in very small vehicles, they in a Dodge conversion van, Mali Mish in their Four Wheel truck camper and us in our VW Bus.
Lights are generally out by 9pm, the Gulf of California hushing in and out as we fall asleep.
By morning, the kids are in the sand, homeschooling or playing freeze tag. They scream, the play, they cry and run. The men work on laptops as the ladies wrangle in the younger ones. By early afternoon we walk back to town.
Repeat the process for a week and move on down the road.
So far, it feels like a familiar paradise. It’s foreign, but the language is not necessarily a barrier. I’m not frightened nor experiencing any of the other emotions one might associate with the various horror stories which came in waves from so many people when we told them we were headed south of the border.
It’s just easy living, good friends and cheap tacos, so far.